without yet knowing the person. It was a bad habit of his.
“The cook is deaf, and he’s not here now. I let the nurse go after my grandfather died, so it’s just me. Would you like coffee?”
The kitchen was bright, the windows admitting as much light as the massive plane tree in the courtyard would allow. Matthew hesitated. This was his first solo house call, and he wasn’t certain of protocol.
“Only if you’re having some.”
“Any excuse for a cup of coffee. Please sit down.”
Into two blue china mugs she poured stale coffee—he could smell it—from a cheap plastic coffeemaker on the counter.
“Milk, sugar?”
“Black is fine.”
“I’m glad you said that, because there is no milk and I don’t know where the sugar is.”
He took a sip and set the mug aside. No one in his family would serve coffee like that to his worst enemy. What was it with rich people and food?
“So who were you expecting,” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Tweed jacket? Gray hair and spectacles?”
“That’s right. Maybe a pipe.”
“Not on the job. Don’t want to get smoke on those delicate surfaces.”
“Of course. I was really just expecting someone older.”
“I’m working on it, every day.”
She laughed again, and he realized that he was going to have to resist the impulse to keep making her do that.
“Have you been with the museum long?”
“Three years. Not long. You can be there ten years and still be the new guy.”
“But you’re a curator?”
“Assistant curator.”
“That’s impressive for someone as young as you, isn’t it?”
He understood now. This wasn’t small talk, he was being interviewed. Was he equal to the job of assessing her grandfather’s work?
“Not really. They needed someone who knew Eastern Orthodox art, and that’s been my primary focus. I was at the Byzantine Museum in Athens for two years before this.”
“Interesting.” She seemed to tire quickly of her own questioning. “This coffee is terrible, I’ll make some fresh.”
“I’ve had plenty this morning.”
“You want to get to work and I’m dragging my feet.”
“There’s no rush.” He had to be careful. “It’s not an easy matter, exposing work that has a strong emotional connection to a complete stranger. It’s one thing to contemplate parting with it, another to watch some so-called expert sizing it up, reducing it to a piece of commerce.”
“Is that what you do, Mr. Spear?”
“I hope not. I was trying to see it from your side.”
“You’re very understanding. You must do this a lot.”
“No, actually.”
“The thing is, the icon is downstairs in this sort of chapel my grandfather built. It’s a very private place. No one went in there but him.”
“I see. Well, we, or you, could take it out of there and I could examine it up here. The light would probably be better, anyway.”
“Sorry, I hadn’t even thought about the light. I can’t imagine seeing it any kind of way but the way it is now, in that strange room. I guess that’s why I haven’t moved it.”
“Now you’ve made me curious.”
“I’m making too much of it. It’s just a little chapel, an old man’s indulgence. I mean, who builds a chapel in their home anymore?”
“Your grandfather was obviously a medievalist at heart.”
“Yes, he was.”
“May I see it?”
She looked at him blankly for a moment. She was tired, sleep-deprived probably, fully formed thoughts coming slowly to her upper consciousness.
“The chapel? Absolutely, I want you to. Then we can take the icon someplace with better lighting, so you can examine it properly.”
“Great.”
“OK.” She stood up, paused again. “I guess what I’m trying to explain is that this wasn’t a valuable artwork to my grandfather. It was a sacred object, to be worshiped.”
Matthew felt a tingling in the back of his skull, and an impulse, contrary to his nature, to reveal something of himself.
“That was its original purpose,”
“The cook is deaf, and he’s not here now. I let the nurse go after my grandfather died, so it’s just me. Would you like coffee?”
The kitchen was bright, the windows admitting as much light as the massive plane tree in the courtyard would allow. Matthew hesitated. This was his first solo house call, and he wasn’t certain of protocol.
“Only if you’re having some.”
“Any excuse for a cup of coffee. Please sit down.”
Into two blue china mugs she poured stale coffee—he could smell it—from a cheap plastic coffeemaker on the counter.
“Milk, sugar?”
“Black is fine.”
“I’m glad you said that, because there is no milk and I don’t know where the sugar is.”
He took a sip and set the mug aside. No one in his family would serve coffee like that to his worst enemy. What was it with rich people and food?
“So who were you expecting,” he asked.
“Oh, I don’t know.”
“Tweed jacket? Gray hair and spectacles?”
“That’s right. Maybe a pipe.”
“Not on the job. Don’t want to get smoke on those delicate surfaces.”
“Of course. I was really just expecting someone older.”
“I’m working on it, every day.”
She laughed again, and he realized that he was going to have to resist the impulse to keep making her do that.
“Have you been with the museum long?”
“Three years. Not long. You can be there ten years and still be the new guy.”
“But you’re a curator?”
“Assistant curator.”
“That’s impressive for someone as young as you, isn’t it?”
He understood now. This wasn’t small talk, he was being interviewed. Was he equal to the job of assessing her grandfather’s work?
“Not really. They needed someone who knew Eastern Orthodox art, and that’s been my primary focus. I was at the Byzantine Museum in Athens for two years before this.”
“Interesting.” She seemed to tire quickly of her own questioning. “This coffee is terrible, I’ll make some fresh.”
“I’ve had plenty this morning.”
“You want to get to work and I’m dragging my feet.”
“There’s no rush.” He had to be careful. “It’s not an easy matter, exposing work that has a strong emotional connection to a complete stranger. It’s one thing to contemplate parting with it, another to watch some so-called expert sizing it up, reducing it to a piece of commerce.”
“Is that what you do, Mr. Spear?”
“I hope not. I was trying to see it from your side.”
“You’re very understanding. You must do this a lot.”
“No, actually.”
“The thing is, the icon is downstairs in this sort of chapel my grandfather built. It’s a very private place. No one went in there but him.”
“I see. Well, we, or you, could take it out of there and I could examine it up here. The light would probably be better, anyway.”
“Sorry, I hadn’t even thought about the light. I can’t imagine seeing it any kind of way but the way it is now, in that strange room. I guess that’s why I haven’t moved it.”
“Now you’ve made me curious.”
“I’m making too much of it. It’s just a little chapel, an old man’s indulgence. I mean, who builds a chapel in their home anymore?”
“Your grandfather was obviously a medievalist at heart.”
“Yes, he was.”
“May I see it?”
She looked at him blankly for a moment. She was tired, sleep-deprived probably, fully formed thoughts coming slowly to her upper consciousness.
“The chapel? Absolutely, I want you to. Then we can take the icon someplace with better lighting, so you can examine it properly.”
“Great.”
“OK.” She stood up, paused again. “I guess what I’m trying to explain is that this wasn’t a valuable artwork to my grandfather. It was a sacred object, to be worshiped.”
Matthew felt a tingling in the back of his skull, and an impulse, contrary to his nature, to reveal something of himself.
“That was its original purpose,”
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